Atonement
by finding
Summary: He woke from a dream, for her… or for himself? Godot-centric.


**Atonement**

_A Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney fanfic_

_unbetaed, version 1.2_

He woke from a dream, for her… or for himself? Godot-centric.

(Bye bye, never say goodbye)

••

i. blurred lines

He was waking from a very long dream.

Noise, all around him, incomprehensible and foreign. The clattering of something metallic, hushed whispers of which he recognized none. His fingers felt weak, useless, and an attempt at reaching out to hold onto something was in vain.

Gingerly he opened his eyes. Like an animal waking from its deep winter sleep. He anticipated bright lights like those of heaven and spotlights, but all he saw was darkness.

He sensed movement. Instinct sent him sitting bolt upright, albeit not fully – something on his hand would not come off, and something else blindfolded him and he could not see, could not _see _–

'Mr. Armando.' A voice, sharp and clipped, remarked from somewhere to his left. Pen scratched hastily against paper. Strong, aromatic smell of bitter coffee; it attacked his rusty senses, gave him a head rush. 'You're awake. Welcome back.'

For Diego Armando, everything became crystal clear then. That dream – it almost felt like he'd been to hell and back.

And he had.

He lifted a finger at the blindfold and cracked an unnatural smile. 'Please, doctor. Do this forlorn traveler a favor and allow him back into the world of colors. Black is a little trite, wouldn't you say?'

The pen stopped in its haphazard path. Diego waited.

'I apologize, Mr. Armando, but that would not be possible. The poison had dealt irreversible damage…' He faltered.

Diego's smile didn't falter.

'I'll have a cup of that doubtlessly black brew of yours.'

ii. losing to yourself

The steady hum of machines had faded. Or, perhaps, he had grown used to it. He sat sipping the distasteful, diluted brew, growing equally accustomed to his new-found companion that was darkness.

He had woken to emptiness. In the short hours that he'd been reacquainted with colors, he'd dived right back into the limbo he came from. Dahlia Hawthorne was gone. His sight was gone. Mia Fey, the kitten he swore to protect, was gone.

He decided then that he liked his coffee bitter.

Glass shattered against his palm, remnants of coffee dripping onto the pristine white bed sheet, a messy mixture of liquid and blood.

No tears sprang to his eyes. The only time a lawyer could cry was when it was all over.

iii. mankind and its likenesses

'Sir, we cannot allow that as of now. Given your conditions, it is required that you stay put for a couple of weeks before –'

The table shook as his freshly bandaged fist connected with pulpwood.

'Never deny a man of his rights to embrace the world, doctor.' Diego forced a wry smile. 'Give me a chance.'

Several hours later, on an operational table, bright surgery lights flooded the room and over a man who could not see them. Nothing to lose this time, he thought, and as he submerged into nothingness Mia's determined voice rang in his ears.

The red-streaked device buzzed with static, sliding into life-sized outlines and figures and heartache. Diego did not join in the doctors' jubilation as they cheered for their success. It probably marked some sort of medical advancement he didn't particularly care for. Still, they could not bring the dead back.

In the background a sheet of acknowledgment slipped unnoticed onto the floor. No one paid attention. A careless janitor picked it up by way of clearing the litter, frowning at its context and scrunching it up for the trash. It was the death certificate for a Diego Armando, and she didn't recognize that name, not in this hospital.

'Godot' was scribbled on his hospital observation clipboard.

They all wore masks. He merely chose to wear it over his face.

iv. atonement

He fumbled with the set of keys, took a while before the right one slid into the keyhole. The apartment smelled distantly of stale coffee beans. He, mechanically, reached for the highest shelf and tore open a fresh packet at the seam, pouring them into the coffee machine and flicking it to life. The whirling of ground beans flooded the small space between him and the rain outside.

First cup.

Godot began to work despite the dull ache in his skull. Dahlia Hawthorne: settled. Redd White: no longer needed to be tried before justice. He drained the mug of its contents, not quite certain of what it tasted like. Something. Surely _something_ would be left for him to accomplish, in the wake of his failure at the cost of Mia's life.

And then he saw it. Inexperienced, hotheaded as boiling water – Mia Fey's young disciple, her only lifeline when he'd been lying incapacitated beneath white sheets. And he'd let her die.

Fingers gripped the frame's silver rim, trembling.

Phoenix Wright.

He laughed quietly. This one was going to be easy.

* * *

><p>Unfinished, published together with old, long forgotten works.<p> 


End file.
